M is for Mafia
by That Night Of Fury
Summary: Hiccup looks up from his hands. When did he fold them on the table? "Hofferson," he says with a raised eyebrow, "took you long enough." Or that's his guess anyway. He can't remember /\ Mafia AU! /\ changed summary
1. 1 - He Knows Best

_**WARING mentions of killing and blood!**_

 **OoOoO**

 **The** first time Hiccup held a gun he was 6. His father wanted him to learn early, his mother wanted him to stay out of it. Then his mother disappeared and his father started ignoring him. For a long time Gobber was more of a father figure to him than his own blood.

Then, suddenly, one day his father walked into his room, took his hand and lead him into a dark blue car with even darker windows. Hiccup remembers looking around and thinking about how lucky he was, 'cause it was a cool car, damnit. He was 6 and it didn't matter if he had no idea where they were going, he was in a nice car with comfy, black leather seats. And he was with his father who he practically never saw.

They turned a lot of times. Hiccup did not know at the time, since he was so young, but one of the other gangs had been doing some damage to their dealings. Often times some of their trade were stolen, and random cars would follow them. His father always was very precautionary, and he had had plenty of assassination attempts.

Hiccup watched as they drove by houses with nice gardens and kids his age playing with various toys and animals. He listened to them laugh and couldn't help but want to play with them, even with his shy nature. The urge to ask his father was strong, but he was taught not to speak unless spoken to, so he held his mouth and kept looking instead.

When the driver turned again and they ended in a small, hidden forest, he glanced at his father. The trees with tall with big, green leafs, the same color as his eyes. At least that was what people told him – that he had forest green eyes, and he had no reason not to believe them.

Looking closer at the trees, he saw that most of them had what looked like drawn circles on them and lots of holes. His first thought was 'it looks weird' and the second was 'why would you draw on a tree?' His father called his name before he could think too much about it or the reasons.

They walked deeper into the forest together, though not much, just a couple of minutes. There were even more circles there. When Hiccup got too curious and couldn't help but ask what they were, his father told him they were called targets. He also told him that they were used for training, but not anything other than that. It caused more questions than answers, honestly.

Hiccup was so lost in thought that he almost didn't notice his father opening his pocket and taking something out. It was shiny and silver, formed like what Hiccup compared to a boomerang, or half a firkant with the other half missing. He wanted to touch it so bad.

It seemed his father noticed this, because the older man chuckled and shook his head at him with a small smile. It was almost invisible, hiding under the enormous beard, but Hiccup saw.

Then his father gave him the thing. It was a gun, or that's what his father called it. His father then moved his arms and hands, showing him how to hold it. It was a little too big, but they made it work.

His father told him how to shoot.

He was, apparently, a natural at it. He hit the middle of the target in his first try. His ears were ringing uncomfortably, but his father looked very proud, so he tried again. It didn't hit the middle like the first time, but it was still inside the circle, so he took that as a win.

When he looked at his father again the man had a glint in his eyes, the small smile on his face once again. The man nodded and pointed with a thick finger to another circle a little farther away.

His ears were still ringing.

 **When** Hiccup shot his first human, he was 11.

He was with his father and Gobber in a dark room, only two small lambs hanging in the ceiling, and black table sitting in the middle of the room. A man was tied to a chair at one end of the small table while his father was standing at the other end, a big, scary scowl on his face. He was angry, very angry.

Gobber was standing beside him by the door, he too wearing a scowl. He didn't look angry, however, he just scowled. And because Hiccup was still a child, he was scowling too. If the grownups did it, he should too. Sound logic, mostly easy execution.

His father had started yelling at one point, slamming his hand on the table multiple times. It was shaking. Hiccup was afraid of it breaking.

Then his father sighed, clearly irritated.

Hiccup was a smart child. He knew what death was, he knew what killing was, he knew all people died at some point. But he had never seen a dead person in his life, never seen anyone get killed. So when his father took out the pretty gun, the gun he sometimes practiced with in the basement, his eyes went wide and the fake scowl disappeared. When his father pointed the gun at the mans head and told him to come over, he went stiff. When Gobber pushed him and he started walking, he was looking at his feet, slowly moving across the dirty floor.

When his father told him to take the gun, he was shaking worse than the table his father abused what felt like only seconds ago. When he looked into the man on the chair's face and saw pure, raw fear, water fell down his face.

When his father told him to pull the trigger, he did, because his father knew best. His father was a grownup. His father was his family.

He closed his eyes as his father told him he'd done a good job. When he opened his eyes and saw the blood, he vomited.

When he went to bed that night he cried himself to sleep.

When he fell asleep he had nightmares about killing the people he knew.

 **Hiccup** was 14 when he stopped flinching at the sound of bullets breaking skulls.

 **He** was 16 when he stopped crying at the thought of all the people he'd killed.

 **He** was 20 when he stopped caring at all.


	2. 2 - What Is Right Or Wrong

**!WARNING! Swearing and mentions of death! I don't think it's worth a higher rating though...**

 **OoOoO**

"HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!"

Hiccup has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes at the guns pointing at him. He'd know they were here, circling the warehouse and looking for threats and such for a long time. Silence is, apparently, not a skill the Berk Police Department possess. Oh well, it's not his problem they aren't trained for stealth. Still, it really is kind of disappointing. He'd hope for more of a challenge.

"HANDS UP!"

This time he does roll his eyes, making sure no one sees it. That would be more trouble than it's worth.

People are quickly filling the empty space, the sound of multiple feet echoing through the open building. He slowly raises his hands from his lap, a small smirk making its way to his lips. He doesn't uncross his legs however, feeling comfortable. Or as comfortable as possible while sitting on the cold floor with lots of people ready to shoot at his face. Or heart. Whichever they feel like.

A petite looking woman with golden locks and indescribably blue eyes in uniform comes to stand before him. She's looking down at him, making a show of being the superior at that moment. She's also looking a little too satisfied for his liking. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third, you are arrested for drug dealing, murder, infiltration, the list goes on. Surrender or we will shoot you." She tells him calmly, a practiced ease showing. She clearly has a high rank.

He shakes his head up and down, carefully as to not alert the men with bullets ready to blow out his brain. It might be stupid of him, but he can't help but feel a bit smug. "You caught me, detective...?"

"Hofferson."

"Ah." He simply says as an answer. "Well let's get going, shall we?" Why wait for something inevitable.

 **OoOoO**

Hiccup doesn't mind relaxing, or relaxation in general. The problem is just that he can't sit still for much time at once. Sure he can enjoy a good book, but the need to move will get to him after a chapter or maybe two if he( and the people around him )are lucky.

He used to invent and build all kinds of things when he was younger. It usually wasn't anything special or useful in any way, but it was fun and that's what mattered the most. It was also one of the only ways for him to stay in one place, which is probably one of the few reason why his father let him do it, as he found Hiccup's hobby to be on the verge of stupid.

Gobber helped him sometimes. The older man knew how to make weapons and such from scratch — which he wasn't taught at first but did get an understanding of later. Learning how to put metal together and how to handle a hammer was hard for him at first, but he got it nonetheless.

Moral of the story is; Hiccup definitely isn't the type of person to be unproductive. So when his captors put him in a small room, alone to his own devices, boredom got to him quickly.

Sitting completely straight in the uncomfortable chair, he looks around for what feels like the hundredth time. The room is, as already mentioned, small. Every single wall is white, which makes the lights seem unnecessary. He was almost blinded when they pushed( yes, pushed. You'd think 'the good guys' would handle guests better )him in. He's not sure what it is supposed to accomplish but okay. He has no right to judge.

He's not 100 percent sure what to think about his situation. He can blame no one but himself for being here, that's a fact, but there's still a slight confused in his mind.

The most likely end scenario is, if he doesn't do anything, that he'll end in prison, probably for life if his list of activities have anything to say. His original plan is pretty much out of the nonexistent window by now.

The thing is, Hiccup doesn't think that he's evil. Good and bad are lines that blur and blend together quickly. Hypothetically, is locking people who stole a loaf of bread up somewhere _right_ or _wrong_? Most people would say right, maybe a little too extreme to be completely fair, but we're thinking hypothetical here.

What if the loaf of bread was for a poor old woman, a woman who lost her job for seemingly no reason and has no home, no family, no money? Would that change the view, the outcome? _What is_ _the right choice and what is the the wrong choice_?

Although those are important factors, the real question is; where does one end and where does the other start? If you ask around, the answers will be mixed. And isn't that an interesting thought?

In the old times, executions were a popular form of message to the living. Death is scary to many people, the thought of loosing someone dear almost unbearable. In Hiccup's life death is a given, and watching people you know die around you gets monotonous after a while. The first death hurts. You'll think of ways to prevent it from ever happening, hoping for a different outcome, think that you could've done something to change it. And in some cases, you could've. But then it happens again and again and at last you don't feel a difference. It's just... the same. It happened before and it'll happen again.

It's a whole other level when you're the one killing.

Your first kill will eat you up slowly from the inside. It'll make you feel downright _dirty_. Unworthy of life, useless, guilty. There's so many emotions but not enough words to describe the feeling of dread inside you. It's... awful. Lying to yourself makes it easier. Death is normal, is it's not? It is a part of nature.

He had to understand all of this early. He's been through it so many times, lived in the middle of it. He's seen it up close and from afar. He has shot countless guns himself, because that's what was expected of him. In the dark, strange world he lives in, was born into, it's kill or be killed. Such a stupid and overused phrase, yet it describes everything he does and has done perfectly. Surviving is a fight only fought by the strongest, the smartest, and Hiccup is one of them.

"Hiccup Haddock."

Hiccup looks up from his hands. When did he fold them on the table? How long has he been waiting? He forgot. "Hofferson," he says with a raised eyebrow, "took you long enough." Or that's his guess anyway. He really can't remember

The woman in front of him narrows her eyes, glaring at him with what he can only describe as a message of 'don't you dare' while also starring into his soul. Or something along those lines, probably. She looks like a cop, holds herself like a cop, wears her badge with honor. Honor – such a weird thing. He's pretty sure that if you asked the woman in front of him, or anyone who's watching the two currently( because her co-workers are obviously somewhere here too, waiting for him to make the wrong move ), they'd say he lost his honor a long time ago. And isn't that just silly, because honor is very different to men like him.

Hiccup has been trough this routine before with bigger and much less forgiving men. He will admit, however, that if looks could kill he'd be dead.

"Care to tell us why you were sitting alone in a warehouse?" She pauses for a moment. "I thought you, of anyone, were smarter than that."

He just shrugs. He could've easily avoided the police for as long as he needed to, and he doesn't entirely know why himself. "I am not quite sure what you mean, detective Hofferson, but the flattery is a nice change." He can't help but reply with a half sarcastic remark. From the warehouse to the station the only things she'd spoken to him were half-insults. So he did the same. A play of some sort. Hiccup also privately thinks that if she narrows her eyes more she won't be able to see.

"No more games!" She yells, looking ready to slap either him or herself. Hiccup doesn't really blame her for being pissed at him at this point.

Reading her body language is easy. Just from observing her in the short time they've talked and been in a room together, he has quite the bit of information on her character. She has fire but is easily angered, she has passion and drive but is a perfectionist who doesn't deal well with failure. She's the kind of person most people in his business would have fun playing with. Games indeed, though he can say that he is playing none at the moment. At least not with her or her associates specially in mind. He tells her none of this, of course, and instead decides to act dumb. "Games?"

"I have some questions for you." She tells him with determination, ignoring his ignorance.

"Of course you do." Hiccup smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, but then again, it never really does. Not anymore. "Ask away!" He says. He might've overdone the fake cheerful tone a little.

The look the detective sends Hiccup gives him flashbacks of all the times people have told him to 'fucking rot in hell'. "Who are you working for?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His first thought is 'what?' his second thought is 'they don't know?' and his third thought is, well, 'what?' again. "Myself...?" He tells her. It comes out more as a question than an answer tough, and she must be proud of the fact that she managed to get him somewhat speechless.

"Oh really?" She doesn't believe him, apparently. Oh well, if she wants to banter then he can't say no, can he?

"Why would I ever work for someone else?" And and that is a truth. He would never work for someone else, never do or clean their dirty messes. He's above that. He always was, no matter how selfish that makes him sound.

The answer doesn't seem to give the girl one bit of satisfaction. Though that's another thing he learned – she's good at hiding emotions. If you're not looking for it, you won't notice the slight change in her stance or the way her mouth twitches. "You-"

"I could help you take down Viggo. You know, in theory. It's kinda hard to do while locked up, don't you agree?" And the request is serious, tough not purely with the good of the police in mind. The man is getting to close to his territory for comfort. Getting him out of the way is one less thing to worry about. If he can get the police on it, even better.

Turning back to look at Hofferson, who hasn't move more than a couple of centimeters, he notices that another person is in the room. He's in the middle of closing the big metallic door. The guy looks buff but also tiny. Not very tall at all.

The brute with black hair takes a step towards him, making himself full height, which is not much. He puffs out his chest in a sad attempt at intimidation. At least now he knows that the 'I'm better than you' thing is common in this department. "Why should we believe you, mafia scum?

"Snotlout!"

Hiccup scoffs. Ah, so that's his name. He doesn't even bother reacting to his apparent new nickname. He's been called worse. "Does it really matter?" He asks. To him, it doesn't. As long as they can come to an agreement and be out of each other's hair as soon as possible, he'll be fine. To him, it's business, and business isn't necessarily build on trust.

 **OoOoO**

"This doesn't make any sense!" Astrid shouts to no one, just short of pulling her hair out. "Why would a mafia, who, might I add, we have no idea what role has just hand himself over to the police?!"

Beside her Fishlegs is nodding with an expression even more confused than hers, if that is even possible. "I've looked over the footage of him from when he was sitting alone in the room." He says while looking through his yellow notebook and computer, his gaze gliding over both. "The only thing he does is shift the way he's sitting and blow hair away from his eyes occasionally. It's almost disturbing how little he's doing." Fishlegs glances at Astrid from the corner of his eye. "I think he might've said something about getting it cut."

Astrid groans. "So we got nothing?"

"Zero." He tells her while shaking his head. "Only his name. Oh, and remember that test we took on him?"

She looks at him expectably, a small hope blossoming in her chest. Any information is welcome at this point.

"He's young. Like, really young considering what the papers say he has done."

"How young?" Astrid asks with a skeptical look. Sure he doesn't exactly look old but 'really young' sounds suspicious to her.

Fishlegs cringes. "He's our age."

And that's definitely not what Astrid expected. Hiccup Haddock, a mafia member with multiple prices on his head is the same age as her and her friends. They've been chasing a psychopath who's feared for more than enough reasons for almost two years, and he's 24. He's born in the same year as Astrid.

Astrid doesn't curse and yet she can't help the whispered "shit".

 **OoOoO**

 **If you came in time to read the original first chapter, you'll see that I changed it a bit. I wasn't satisfied( still isn't completely )at all. I knew I could do better, so I tried. I think it's better... I literally rewrote almost everything. Every single thing. Yes.**

 **Here's a little note: my native language is Danish, not English, and I've only been writing for about maybe two years( ? )with pauses in-between. Anyway, I'm sorry if there's any mistakes( which I'm sure there is ). You're welcome to correct me, but please be at least somewhat nice about it :)**

 **I have no beta 'n stuff.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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